Choke
by yayfornonsense
Summary: He is first aware of the searing, unbearable pain in his chest. / Warnings for excessive use of angst, guilt complexes, and the word blood.


Thank you for reading and reviewing.

* * *

><p><em>A human being has about 100 billion brain cells. Although different neurons fire at different speeds, as a rough estimate it is reasonable to estimate that a neuron can fire about once every 5 milliseconds, or about 200 times a second. The number of cells each neuron is connected to also varies, but as a rough estimate it is reasonable to say that each neuron connects to 1000 other neurons- so every time a neuron fires, about 1000 other neurons get information about that firing. If we multiply all this out we get 100 billion neurons X 200 firings per second X 1000 connections per firing = 20 million billion calculations per second.<em>

.

(Wednesday, 8:22 P.M.)

He is first aware of the searing, unbearable pain in his chest. It burns hotter than anything he has ever felt, blazes a path across his ribcage and up his sternum toward his throat. He claws at it, wanting it _gone_, and his hands come away bloody.

Then he opens his eyes.

There is red everywhere: red sky, red building, the red fire trucks that race past him in a flurry of wailing sirens, the red of his own blood that is splattered across the pavement…

And the gleaming, obnoxious red piping of a certain blazer that shines across the dirt and blood-covered street to nudge his consciousness just a bit, reminding him of everything in his life that matters: of white teeth and hazel eyes and the piercing, choking reality of a too-pale hand, heavy and trusting in his.

That's when his life explodes, and the only color that means anything is black.

_Choke_

X.

(36 hours earlier)

Nick walks to class that day in a manner that, really, is a bit too happy for a Monday morning. As all of the other students at Dalton trudge off after a very satisfying breakfast to Biology and French and Pre-Cal, Nick _bounces _(yes, _bounces_) all the way to his Physics class, a grin on his face. As he enters Mr. Lee's classroom, he gets several strange looks from his classmates, and Foster Meacham even _glares _at him. Nick considers this, before deciding that, really, _whatever_. If he wants to be in a good mood, he damn well can, and Foster Meacham can go fu-

"-And answer the review questions," Mr. Lee says, which leaves Nick in a momentary predicament as he leans across his desk surreptitiously to get a glance at Cole King's textbook, so he'll know just what the hell they're supposed to be doing. Cole frowns and shields his page with one silk-covered elbow, which Nick has to take a moment to appreciate. Because, really, _silk_? As if their dress code wasn't gay enough already (not that he's complaining), Cole King had to go and get his blazers tailored in a _silk _finish. He raises one perfectly manicured eyebrow (_well_, just because Jeff's the girl in their relationship doesn't mean he can't be a little _gay_) before turning back to his own book and poking Blaine in the back with a pencil.

"Page 235," Blaine mutters without looking up, because at this point it's happened so often that he's quite used to it. Nick appreciates not having to actually ask, but he's a little bit dismayed by the fact that he's got, well, a _reputation _for not paying attention. Whatever. It's not his fault Jeff's hair is so blond and beautiful and-

"Mr. Duval?"

Nick's head shoots up and he pastes on his most charming, I'm-so-innocent-I-shit-rainbows grin. "Yes, Mr. Lee?"

Mr. Lee's gaze narrows slightly. "Would you read the next section in the text for us, please?"

Nick nods and obliges, grateful for Blaine's sudden intervention. Really, that boy ought to get an award for the number of times he had saved Nick's ass. Nick was sure he made up for it by being awesome though. Seriously, he was an amazing friend. All those times he had stood quietly in the shadows, doo-wopping behind Blaine and backing up his amazing voice with killer harmonies. Not to mention, staying _completely _out of the whole Klaine relationship, which went against his very nature. And then one time, he had even gotten Blaine this vibrator, _and _showed him how to use it, because, honestly the poor guy was so clueless sometimes-

"What did you say, Mr. Duval?" Mr. Lee is looking at him with nothing less than pure shock, and Nick suddenly wonders why the other students are snickering.

Nick blinks, disconcerted. "N-nothing. I'm just reading the section, like you asked, Mr. Lee."

"You said _vibrator_," Cole steps in helpfully, which causes all of the other students to laugh harder.

Nick stares, feeling his face starting to flame. "W-what?"

"Mr. Duval," Mr. Lee says, enunciating every syllable, "The next word in the text is _solidify_. Would you care to share what exactly you were thinking about? Because it clearly wasn't physics. At least of the – er – scientific kind."

Nick's eyes widen and he bites his lip, glancing at Blaine. The guy has got this smirk on his face like this is all so incredibly _funny_, when yeah, no, it really isn't. "I, uh, I just… May I please just finish reading the section, sir?"

Mr. Lee frowns. "Hmmm. Mr. Anderson, please finish reading the section. Mr. Duval, please, try to pay attention."

The class lets out a few more snorts of amusement before turning back to their work. Nick concentrates very hard after that. Sort of. It's not like he has ADD or something. It's just that he has better things to think about. Like Jeff. And pizza. And that new sci-fi thriller that just came out. And Jeff. And-

Yeah, mostly Jeff.

"He _hmm'ed _at me," Nick moans to Blaine as they exit the classroom. "He actually _hmm'ed _at me!"

Blaine snorts. "So?"

"_So_," Nick continues as they saunter down the hallway, just a little bit cocky in the knowledge that the title _senior _does come with a bit of, well, _seniority_. "Coming from him, _hmmm _is practically a death threat!"

"I think you're overreacting," Blaine says firmly. "It was a little slip of the tongue, no big deal. Though," he adds, as though the thought had just occurred to him, "By-the-by, what _were _you thinking about?"

Nick shakes his head, his hair flying into his eyes in the process. "You don't want to know."

"I probably don't," Blaine agrees. "See you in Warbler's practice."

With that, he slips around a corner and disappears with a kind of grace that can't be faked. And Nick has to admit (like every other guy in their class under the influence of a little booze has too) that Blaine is _hot_. He's a natural-born heartbreaker, which Nick can appreciate but definitely, _definitely _doesn't want. Let Kurt Hummel handle that piece of work, Nick thinks with a shake of his head. Jeff Sterling is just enough for him.

"Hey, beautiful."

Speak of the devil.

"Hey," Nick says, turning around in Jeff's unexpected embrace and grinning up at his boyfriend. "How was British Lit?"

"Very Shakespearean," Jeff says, tilting his head slightly to the side, which causes his hair to fall in his face just a bit and _god_, Nick is _so _in love. "How was Physics?"

Nick blushes at the memory. "Don't ask."

Jeff's eyes light up playfully and he pokes Nick in the side. "Okay, you can't say something like that and then expect to get away with not _telling _me. Spill it. What happened?"

"Let's just say it had to do with vibrators and a very disapproving _hmmm _from Mr. Lee," Nick sighs, linking arms with his boyfriend and steering them down the hall toward French II, which they take together.

"Oh no, the dreaded _hmmm_," Jeff bemoans dramatically. "Don't worry, Nicky. I'll defend you to the death."

"Touching," comments the dry voice of their teacher, Madame Jacqueline, behind them. "But this is French, Mr. Sterling. Not theater. Please take your seats, gentleman."

"Though if it's vibrators you're interested in," Jeff whispers as they sit down, "I happen to be an _excellent _replacement."

Nick grins.

IX.

(Wednesday, 10:02 P.M.)

Kurt Hummel is standing in the doorway, whiter than death, and Nick feels the hot guilt surge through him all over again.

"What happened?" Kurt asks, and though he has eyes for no one but Blaine, Nick realizes that the question must be directed at him. "They wouldn't tell me anything…"

"I don't know," Nick says, his voice sounding inadequate even to his own ears. "It happened so fast. He was suddenly just _there _and…"

He drops off and closes his eyes, replaying the scene in his head again. There was so much red. And too much of it was blood. His blood, Blaine's…

Jeff's.

He opens his eyes and thinks he doesn't even exist; Kurt is looking at Blaine with such intensity. The tears he expected, however, aren't there. For the first time, Nick realizes that, maybe, Kurt Hummel is good enough for Blaine Anderson. Maybe he's strong enough. Nick feels like an intruder, staring in on an obviously very private moment between his two friends. He stands abruptly and leaves the room.

He doesn't think Kurt notices.

He wanders aimlessly down the hall, wanting to run (out of this hospital, out of Westerville, out of freakin' Ohio) because he thinks maybe he can outstrip the guilt that is festering in that space below his heart. Then he sees forgotten blood on his wrist and maybe it's Jeff's and maybe it isn't, but he runs to the bathroom and throws up all the same. He scrubs the tender skin of his wrist _raw_, the cold water contrasting very nicely with his burning fingertips. Then he stands in front of the mirror and tries to find a bit of that Kurt Hummel strength in himself.

He never does, and he exits the bathroom forty-five minutes later _knowing _that he doesn't deserve anything at all.

VIII.

(Tuesday, 5:15 P.M.)

"Hey," David says, collapsing onto the couch on one side of Nick. "We were wondering…"

"…What are you doing tomorrow night?" Wes interjects, collapsing next to Nick's other side like a faithful reflection.

"Why?" Nick is wary, if only because this is _David _and _Wes_, the pair who unconsciously instilled in him a sense of constant apprehension only two weeks into his freshman year. It isn't that they are _dangerous_, per se. It's more like mischief follows them like a lonely puppy, looking for ways to poke its nose into things. And it is a very well loved puppy.

"We were thinking…" Wes begins.

"Thinking? You guys? Never!" Blaine exclaims dramatically, folding into a cross-legged position on the floor like a dying wind-up toy.

"Uh oh," Jeff says, coming into the conversation just then and pushing Wes to one side so he can squeeze in next to Nick. "What have you two done now?"

"I resent that," David grumbles. "You know, one would think that you guys would have more respect for your elders."

Nick snorts. "Elders? David, you're a freshman in college and we're seniors in high school. It's not like there's that much of a difference."

"Are you kidding?" Wes exclaims.

"There's a world of difference!" David continues.

"We're in college!" They say in unison.

All of the other boys blink at this creepy display of indignation, each secretly wondering how many times their two crazy friends have had to practice that bit to get it down.

"The point is," says David, "We have now experienced things that none of you have. And we want to educate you. Which is why we're inviting all of you to a party at our dorm tomorrow night."

"A party?" Jeff asks doubtfully.

"At your dorm?" Blaine echoes.

"It'll be fun!" Choruses the pair of college boys, both looking extremely pleased with themselves.

"I don't know, guys," Nick says, shaking his head. "Your ideas usually end…"

"Disastrously," Jeff concludes.

"Horribly, _horribly_ wrong," Blaine agrees.

"You tend to go a little… nuts," Nick tries to explain.

Wes and David look thoroughly disgusted at the lack of enthusiasm. "Who, us?" They inquire.

"Would you guys quit _doing _that?" Blaine begs. "Anyway, I can't. I promised Kurt I'd take him to a movie tomorrow night, and he'll kill me if I cancel. I already had to back out last week because of your _emergency_."

David and Wes grin sheepishly, and Nick sighs, remembering last Thursday when David and Wes had run out of Red Vines and had to 'borrow' Blaine's emergency stash _immediately_. It wouldn't have been a problem, except for the fact that they were at a show choir competition.

In Canada.

"Look, I know that was a _bit _wacko," Wes admits. "But you guys won't regret coming to this party, I promise. Bring Kurt along, Blaine. He's sexy _and _sophisticated. Who knows? He might just get laid, which I know would be a _completely _new experience for him."

Wes winks and he and David burst into giggles. Nick rolls his eyes. Seriously? For two very non-gay people, they could be such _girls_. Blaine's face has gotten very red and he looks like he's about to explode.

"Leave Kurt out of this," he mutters.

"Whatever you say," David replies smoothly. "Just come, all of you. You won't regret it. I promise."

.

"What do you think?" Nick asks his boyfriend later that night as they lay on the floor in their dorm room, forgoing the twin beds in favor of the more spacious carpet, which provides lots of room for cuddling.

"About what?" Jeff is absently tracing his forefinger across Nick's arm: up his bicep to his shoulder and back down to the inside of his elbow, across and down to his palm, and then landing gently in the area of his wrist, feathering the spidery veins there with a light touch that makes Nick shudder.

"That party," Nick elaborates, sighing in contentment as Jeff starts placing soft kisses on the path his hand has just traced.

"Do we have to talk about that now?" Jeff mutters, placing a gentle kiss to Nick's shoulder.

"Ah, no," Nick says agreeably, pulling Jeff's face up to his. He kisses his boyfriend deeply, sighing in the back of his throat as Jeff slides a well-practiced hand through his hair. Pulling back slightly, he kisses Jeff's jaw and breathes in deeply, reveling in the moment that most people would call _kissing Jeff Sterling_ but what he calls _forever_.

"We don't ever have to talk about it," he promises, meaning it. Especially if Jeff keeps doing _that _with his tongue.

"About what?" Jeff asks for the second time that night.

Nick stands and pulls the other boy up with him, turning out the light and pushing Jeff onto the nearest bed. Crawling on top of him and loving the way Jeff's eyes shine in the moonlight, Nick smiles.

"Nothing."

VII.

(Wednesday, 11:00 P.M.)

"What does that mean, exactly?" Kurt snaps impatiently. Just behind him, quiet and unobtrusive enough to be a piece of furniture in the room, Burt Hummel places a steady hand on his son's shoulder.

"The brain damage in the patient's cerebral cortex was more extensive than we originally thought. There were some unforeseen complications," says the doctor in an even monotone. Nick supposes it's a tone that is meant to be comforting, but it really kind of doesn't help when Kurt is standing there, all angry and menacing, and Blaine Anderson is _dying _a few feet away.

"He has a name," Kurt mutters, walking to Blaine and running a hand through what is left of the messy curls, carefully avoiding the long, thin line of the incision that slices cleanly across his forehead.

The doctor is silent, the picture of sympathy. Nick wants to throw something at him. Maybe a shoe.

"So basically," Kurt continues, "There's nothing you can do."

"Not right now," the doctor amends. "If he wakes up…"

"…When he wakes up," Kurt counters.

"When," the doctor concedes. "We'll be able to increase his medication. It's all going to be a waiting game now."

Kurt nods and the doctor, with a few quiet words to Burt and Blaine's parents, leaves the room.

"Well," Kurt says softly to his boyfriend. "I've waited for you before, Blaine Anderson. I can do it again. The bird is already dead this time though. So hurry up."

And Nick thinks that sums the whole situation up very nicely.

VI.

(Wednesday, 7:57 P.M.)

Nick clutches Jeff's arm just a bit more tightly as they ascend the last flight of stairs to Wes and David's dorm floor, the music loud enough even in the stairwell to make the floor vibrate. "I knew this was a bad idea," he comments, sidestepping a pile of crushed beer cans in disgust.

"Relax," Jeff replies, nudging Nick in the side reassuringly. "We'll just stay a few minutes; just long enough to appease Wes and David. Then we'll go."

Nick frowns but accepts this as the best possible solution in the current scenario. He's just glad Jeff is with him. He's never been a party guy; he was always too quiet and studious to be invited to the blowouts back in middle school. Jeff handles things like this more easily, slipping into a sea of strangers with a practiced air.

"There they are," Jeff says, nodding in the general direction of Wes and David, who are passing out cans of beer and smiling genially. Next to them, Blaine is clutching a beer and looking uncomfortable.

"Hey guys!" Wes waves, spilling beer in the process.

"Glad you could make it," David adds. "Beer?"

"No," Nick says firmly. "We're not staying; we just dropped by to say hi."

Jeff elbows him for the lack of subtlety, but, really, Nick is beyond caring. He doesn't want to be here; he doesn't even know why he agreed to come in the first place. David and Wes share identical looks of disappointment.

"But couldn't you at least…" David begins with a wave of his hand.

"…Stay for a bit?" Wes interjects. He thrusts a beer into Jeff's un-expecting hands. "We won't bite."

"Speak for yourself," David says, leering at Blaine's ass. Nick chalks it up to his friend being a bit drunk already, and prays that he is correct in his assumptions.

Meanwhile, Jeff has sidled over to Blaine quietly. "Where's Kurt?" He asks.

"Studying," Blaine sighs. "He got mad at me for asking him to come to this, so now I _think _we're not speaking. Whatever. He'll get over it."

Jeff frowns, and Nick pauses to appreciate his boyfriend's gentle nature. Jeff would never let an argument fester like that. He believes wholeheartedly in talking things out. It is one of the things Nick loves about him.

Jeff hesitates, and Nick can see his argument on the tip of his tongue, but then he just shrugs and says, "Bathroom. Coming, Nick?"

"I'll stay here," Nick says, because he doesn't have to go and because he really doesn't want to stay any longer than he absolutely has to.

"I'll come," offers Blaine, and together the two weave their way through the crowd and out of Nick's sight. Wes and David are guffawing drunkenly on the peripheral of the situation, but he ignores them. He just wants to get out of here.

"Nice jeans."

His gaze flicks toward the comment, instinctively knowing it's directed at him. His eyes fall upon a tall, thin boy with a shock of black hair (obviously dyed) and a tiny diamond nose ring. He is leaning against the wall, one foot propped up behind him, a shot glass in his hand and a cigarette balanced between two fingers. He smirks dangerously at Nick, who shudders involuntarily. He _so _needs to blow this joint.

"Thanks," he says coolly, trying to leave a hint of politeness in his tone. His hands slide self-consciously to his jeans, which are skinny and black and hug his legs in all the right places. He suddenly regrets wearing them.

"I'm Evan," the other boy continues, pausing to take a long drag from his cigarette. "You new here?"

"I-," Nick blinks, disconcerted as he follows Evan's shot glass to his lips, watching the liquid disappear and his Adam's apple bob rhythmically. "I don't go to school here. I go to Dalton Academy."

"Ah," Evan says, nodding wisely. "You're a friend of Wes and David's."

Nick nods.

"Then you'll be needing someone to show you around," Evan tells him. He holds out a hand. "Allow me."

"That's okay," Nick says, backing up unconsciously. "I'm just waiting for my boyfriend."

"You'll be back before he can miss you," Evan promises. Then he smiles, all his teeth flashing. "Come on; live a little."

Nick bites his lip. He shouldn't go. He still wants to leave. He wants to just be back in his dorm room with Jeff, studying for their upcoming French exam. But he thinks of Wes and David, and their snide comments, and _god _this would mean no teasing for _weeks_. And Evan is still smiling invitingly, and really, what's the harm?

_Live a little_.

He grabs the open hand and allows himself to be whisked away.

V.

(Thursday, 6:24 A.M.)

Nick sits in the colorless waiting room, watching Meredith Viera drone on about rising gas prices in what he suspects _might _be a re-run of the news, which he didn't even know was possible.

But then, a lot of things have happened recently that he didn't think were possible.

Around the corner (which he has discovered is both too close and too far away when one is sitting in the waiting room), the doctor is murmuring in a low voice to Blaine's parents. Nick tries not to listen, he really does, but it's hard when every word the doctor says could mean life or death for Blaine.

Kurt rounds the corner and collapses into a chair beside him, which surprises Nick, to say the least. Kurt hasn't left Blaine's side for anything all night.

"What-" He tries, his voice cracking from lack of use. He clears his throat and tries again. "Why are you…"

"They made me leave," Kurt says, his eyes hard and glittering. "Something about a _personal _examination."

Nick studies his friend for a moment. It's not like he really knows Kurt that well. And the only things he knows about the Klaine relationship are what he's heard from Blaine and speculation from Wes and David. But he's discovering a new side to it that he hadn't known existed. A side that consists of loyalty so extreme that it scares Nick just a little bit. There is possessiveness in the way Kurt acts now. A fierce protective love that glows in his eyes. It is, Nick realizes with a jolt, a very familiar look.

It's one he sees on Jeff all the time.

He steps into the room quietly, because even after having done it what feels like half a million times, it still knocks his breath away. Jeff is small in the hospital bed, which is an adjective Nick would never have used to describe him before, but it's true. There is no other word for it. Not now.

"He slept the whole time you were gone," Mr. Sterling says, placing one hand on Nick's shoulder protectively. Nick feels tears burn behind his eyelids and, for the millionth time, he wishes he could voice his thanks. Mr. and Mrs. Sterling are the closest thing he has got to parents, since his own decided they didn't want a fag for a son.

And there is the guilt, hot and twisting in his gut, but he ignores it. Guilt doesn't deserve any part of his time with Jeff.

"We'll be back in a few minutes," Mrs. Sterling whispers. She kisses Jeff's forehead and then Nick's, and the two leave in a quiet pattering of feet.

Nick sighs and pulls his chair closer, grabbing Jeff's hand. Jeff mutters in his sleep, breathes in deeply through his nose, and finally wakes, blinking sleepily in the morning light. His eyes seek out Nick almost immediately.

"Hey," he says.

"Hey, sleepyhead," Nick responds lightly, kissing Jeff's palm. "How do you feel?"

"Like I got hit by a car," Jeff groans. Then he grins. "But better. A little hungry actually."

"I'll see if I can get you something to eat," Nick says, standing, but Jeff grabs his arm to keep him still.

"Answer something first," he orders. He studies Nick for a moment, taking in the rumpled, bloody clothing, the tangled hair, and the bleary eyes. "You know it's not your fault, right?"

Nick swallows, looks away. Slips his hand out of Jeff's and curls his arms around his middle, trying to stem the ache that is growing there. "You could have died. Blaine might _be _dying."

"It wasn't your fault," Jeff insists, grabbing Nick's hand again. "We were in the wrong place at the wrong time. If anything, it was my fault. You didn't want to go and I made you."

Nick shakes his head, pulling away again, because that's not the whole story. And the whole story _hurts_. He sits down again and places his head in his hands. He feels gentle fingers in his hair and thinks maybe he's the one dying.

"What is it?" Jeff's voice is gentle.

Nick steadies himself with a breath, looks up and finds Jeff's gaze, locking it with his own. Swallows once, twice, three times.

"I had been drinking."

IV.

(Wednesday, 8:07 P.M.)

"Have one," Evan insists, shoving a shot glass into Nick's hand. He's twisting and swaying and moving _with _the crowd, which makes Nick feel about as graceful as an elephant.

"Sorry," he says for the fourth time that night as he steps on someone's toes. He grabs the shot glass almost absently and downs it before he can think about the consequences.

"So, high school boy," Evan drawls, examining the contents of his own glass. "Tell me. How has someone as hot as you managed to make it all the way through high school a party virgin?"

Nick shrugs, accepting a second drink. "I dunno. Luck I guess."

Evan snorts. "Luck? Or misfortune?"

"Depends on your point of view, I suppose," Nick responds easily, wondering why he thought this was going to be difficult. The alcohol is making his head buzz pleasantly and Evan has really pretty teeth. "And I presume _you're _an expert?"

"Oh, trust me," Evan growls, causing Nick to shudder for not the first time that night. "I'm not a virgin in any sense of the word."

III.

(Thursday, 12:00 P.M.)

Hot tears are running down Nick's face, tracking the path of his jaw line that Jeff has so often traced with his tongue. He sits in the bathroom stall and listens to Mr. Sterling calling his name, not bothering to answer, not wanting to make his whereabouts known. He's drowning in guilt like hot lava and he shuts his eyes and sees red.

Nothing could be worse than this. Nothing.

II.

(Wednesday, 8:17 P.M.)

"I should really go," he says after a third shot of tequila.

"Have a cigarette," Evan offers.

Nick obliges and holds steady while Evan lights him up. The older boy is leering at him, but Nick is a little too drunk to find this behavior condescending. He puts the cigarette between his teeth and enjoys the way it rolls across his tongue, hot and hard and heavy, like a broken promise.

"I have to go," he repeats.

"Let me give you my number," Evan suggests, leaning closer, his nose brushing Nick's cheek.

While Nick is perfectly aware that this is an invasion of personal space, he's quite distracted by Evan's hot breath across his lips and how much he doesn't smell like Jeff. Then Evan kisses him – _hard _– on the mouth, and _oh _he doesn't taste like Jeff either.

Nick pushes the boy away, stumbles back, crushing the fallen cigarette under his heel unconsciously. He doesn't take the time to study Evan's expression; he wants blonde hair and hazel eyes and a drink of water.

"Are you okay?" Blaine asks as Nick stumbles upon his friends.

"Let's go," he gasps at Jeff, and Jeff for once doesn't bother to ask questions. He sees the concern in his boyfriend's face and wants to explain but he can't think much past the bitter taste of another boy in his mouth. Blaine trails behind them, intermittently throwing looks of consternation Nick's way.

"You okay?" Blaine repeats as they reach the car. Nick pulls his jacket off, suddenly burning, and something flies out of the pocket. Jeff picks it up and holds it to the light: Evan's cigarette lighter.

Not knowing how to explain, Nick laughs. Tosses it in the backseat and learns to not care. And if it's a little painful, he doesn't show it.

Maybe parties do make you grow up faster, after all.

I.

(Wednesday, 8:23 P.M.)

Maybe he's a little bit drunk after those three shots of tequila, but really, Blaine is just so _hilarious_. Nick turns the corner, not really bothering to look because the path back to Dalton is one that he has driven a million times.

A hundred million.

Too many to count.

"Nick, _watch out_," Blaine yells, and then there is nothing but the blinding white of oncoming headlights, and the certainty that _yes_, this is what it feels like to die, and maybe maybe maybe he wants to. This is the reality of Blaine's head slamming into the pavement hard enough that he can _hear _it as the car rolls over, the reality of _no_ he cannot and will not let go of Jeff's hand. This is pain and burning, drowning, _let me die _and Jeff is screaming and crying and the glass glints like fallen stars in the streetlight. The pavement is hard and cold and unforgiving, but the blood is wet and slick and _hot _and real.

He remembers the lighter in the backseat and opens his eyes long enough to see the car catch fire. By the time it explodes, he has already blacked out again.

(_Time's up._)

(Thursday, 11:04 P.M.)

The gentle _beep beep _of Blaine's heart monitor is driving Nick crazy. And so is all this back and forth. He feels a pull calling him back toward Jeff like a magnet, but the guilt is like a rock in his stomach, weighing him down and keeping him near Blaine, reminding him that _yes_, this is all his fault.

Kurt has fallen asleep, his head bent awkwardly over the hospital bed, but Nick doesn't have the heart (or the energy) to wake him. He rubs a hand over his face tiredly and prays for a miracle.

He has started to count time in the exhales of Blaine's fragile breathing. _In and out, in and out_. He watches the clock hands move slowly, feels the sharp angles of the hospital chair pressing into his back uncomfortably. Thinks of Jeff in the other room and wants to _die_.

Kurt's face is lined with exhaustion and despair, even in sleep. Nick wants to erase the creases in his forehead, because maybe that would help to ease his guilt.

The minute hand moves, thunder rumbles somewhere beyond the hell of this hospital, and Nick tries to swallow the fear that has filled his throat.

Blaine inhales.


End file.
